'The scene resembled a surrealist painting'

His first-person account of his experiences will be serialised in the Wiltshire Times over the next few weeks.

MY first thoughts as I viewed TV reports about the tsunami hitting Asia were of my musical companions, Selvaganesh and Mahesh, who live only a mile from the sea in Chennai, India, and of low-income people who generally do not have insurance of any sort.

In England, I told my lawyer brother-in-law how such uninsured people would be wiped out financially, apart from losing family members. How wrong I would be.

It took me two long days to return to my home in England and find Selva's mobile phone number. I was ecstatic when he answered my call.

This young man, probably the world's top young hand percussionist, lives with his Grammy-winning father Vikku. Selva and Mahesh are now my staunchest allies in efforts to help survivors.

My training as a medical doctor/public health expert and passable familiarity with the Tamil language pulled me towards Nagapattinam district in Tamil Nadu, India. This is where the tsunami hit the Indian mainland hardest.

"I can set up their disease surveillance system," I told my family. "If they haven't done it already."

After a few hours of frantic phone calls, I succeeded in booking a flight out to India. Once there, I rushed to Nagapattinam.

The railway station at 5am resembled a refugee camp. The floor was carpeted with sleeping people. I could not find a hotel room. All were occupied, mainly by reporters and relief workers.

"Try Vailankanni," one hotel receptionist advised me.

I made my way to the pilgrimage town. Usually full of people, it was deserted, apart from an army of green-turbaned workers who were sweeping and casting bleach around like men possessed.

All shops and restaurants were closed. The only food available was free rice served to all by the church canteen. I was starving, and spicy rice has never tasted so good.

Each person washed their own plate and stacked it neatly. Something strange was happening here. Kindness and consideration seemed pervasive. I went into a hotel hoping to book a room.

"We are closed, but you can have any room you like," said a woman cleaning the hotel reception. "Why have you come here?"

"I'm a doctor come to help", I replied.

"Please stay," she said. "Take any room, you don't have to pay."

I asked why they were closed. Had the waters entered the hotel?

"Come and look," she said.

We walked through a door into a side verandah. A courtyard lay below us. It resembled an extreme surrealist painting.

Shattered furniture, pieces of brick wall, a red sofa, a wooden cupboard with a gaping hole and piles of debris filled the small space, pointing every which way. A sheet of grey-brown slime seemed to be drawn across the devastation.

There were no corpses within sight or smell. Still, I decided to seek a healthier place to stay. The woman bade me a cheerful farewell, saying I could return if I wanted.

I dragged my suitcase through the spotless, empty street, which reeked of bleach.

Amplified prayers and songs were floating across the town from church loudspeakers. I went in.

There must have been 10 people there, in a shrine that can hold hundreds; in a town which attracts over a million pilgrims during its 11-day annual festivities. Prayers were said for those who perished. The shrine, which is located above beach level, seemed intact.

The heat and humidity were getting to me. Army men, policemen and sweepers were the only people in the streets. A man on a cycle was selling coconuts. I ordered one, gratefully.

"How much?" I asked.

"Drink," he ordered, handing me a coconut which he had rapidly sliced open.

I obeyed, eagerly gulping down the coconut water.

"How much?" I asked again.

"Whatever you want," he replied.

I could not believe my ears. This was an India I had never known, where human kindness flowed freely and tradesmen greeted me with genuine warmth. Had lots of people died?

"Hundreds. Nobody counted," he replied.

"Everyone who was on the beach. Lots of foreigners too."

Had he lost anyone?

"No, I live far from the beach. We were okay," he said.

Were there still corpses on the beach?

"The army men cleared them away," he said.

Many people were wearing surgical masks, presumably against stench and pestilence. I resolved to find a room quickly, feeling impatient to get to the beach.